Dearest Rachel –
I think I’ve heard this phrase about travel but, apart from leisure trip, where once you arrive, it’s nothing but rest and relaxation, I’m not sure I agree. If nothing else, flights tend to be boring and nondescript; once they’re over and done with, they almost manage to escape memory instantly (for which I’m actually grateful for my ability to do so, rather than regretting it). To be sure, that’s how such things are supposed to be; a memorable flight is an unpleasant one, just like how it’s the misadventures of life that make for the best stories in retrospect, even as they’re no fun to endure.
You can probably guess by that introduction that this is going to be a tale of one of those flights; and you’d be right.
The thing is, it’s not a situation that can be helped. This is January in Chicago; it’s going to be cold, and there’s going to be ice on the wings that needs to be cleared. What’s unusual, however, is that the winter storm that the country is freaking out about is actually passing us by, and dumping most of its snowy payload on points south. So for the folks at home, it’s going to be cold and lightly snowy – in fact, Mom and Dad are describing the morning as looking “like a snow globe” outside, which is lovely as long as you don’t have to go out in it (which, thanks to internet streaming, they don’t) – but just south of the city to the Florida panhandle, it’s going to be one of those “once in a (fill in the appropriate long period of time)” type of snowstorms.
And in order to get to Miami, where we pick up our connecting flight to Honduras, we have to fly straight into its teeth. So of course, we could expect to be dealing with more than the usual amount of turbulence.
Even getting to the airport had its issues. When I arranged for my Uber to show up, I must have been inexact in giving it my location; once 2:15 rolled around with no sign of it (save for a curious notification on my phone that ‘Rizwanullah has arrived’), I decided to head out into the subzero (but thankfully still) air. Lo and behold, there was a car parked and running at a house across the street – which would have gone unnoticed had it not been at such an early hour of the morning. I had to pick up both my suitcase and backpack and haul them across the street to confirm that yes, this was Rizwanullah, and he was waiting for me. He seemed to be further confused by the fact that the house he’d parked at was lit up and people were walking about within, and given that, I can’t blame him for that. At least the situation was sorted out in relatively short order, and we were on our way to the airport with time to spare.
Interesting factoid: it would seem that unlike New York, New York, Chicago – or more specifically, its aerial gateway, O’Hare – is not, in fact, a “city that never sleeps.” Even the self-service kiosks don’t open up until three in the morning. Which makes sense as a general rule, and barely affects anyone much, but when your flight takes off at five, and you’ve been conditioned to arrive three hours ahead of time for an international flight (although in fairness, the first leg to Miami qualifies as ‘domestic’), it’s a little irksome to not be able to get on with the check-in process upon arrival. Still, it’s not as if I’m going to miss the flight, as literally every other passenger is thus delayed in their own check-in.
But that’s just the bureaucratic aspect of flying; a bit of a hassle, but hardly the stuff of any real concern. No, the thing that disposes many people – including yourself, which I didn’t realize until our last year together – against flying is the tenuous nature of the trip itself. Those born in the post 9/11 world may be able to accept that, as long as no loonies are able to take over a given plane, the safety of these airborne buses is unparalleled in the world of transportation. But we’re old enough to remember planes that went down for lack of sufficient de-icing procedures (just to name one cause at random) to feel entirely comfortable.
Even as I left the house, I had vague thoughts of Roberto Clemente, and his attempt to aid his home country after a hurricane, only to never make it there due to a plane crash. I’m aware that safety technology has improved by leagues (ahem) since his death – indeed, some may have been implemented due to it – but that wasn’t what was running through my head.
Still, once you board the plane, you’re putting your life in the hands of the pilot, and there really isn’t anything else for it. It’s the only way to get where you’re going, anyway – which is probably why you used to endure it without so much as a complaint back in the day. And for all my fears about the effects of cold and ice on the plane upon takeoff, that’s nothing compared to the cold experienced while in flight; I recall seeing a reading of -50°F on the tracking screen en route back from Israel last year. Compared to that, the -10°F we were dealing with on the ground today should hardly have been a concern.
And, in fact, aside from sitting on the runway for fifteen extra minutes while undergoing another de-icing procedure (which assuaged my concerns that much more), the takeoff felt more or less routine. Sure, there was some shaking and wobbling as it made its way to its set altitude, but that’s standard procedure. What wasn’t anticipated was that this shaking would continue for most of the flight.
Well… again, we all knew that the storm was there to the south of us. Places are getting snow that haven’t seen it in years, and the news has been full of stories about what to do to prepare for it, since so many people in its path aren’t used to having to do so. So once we were in the midst of it, we could conclude that “oh, that’s what we’re dealing with, too” and assume that, if it were a real problem to go through, the flight would have been cancelled.
But it was still unnerving to have it continue, effectively non-stop, for the better part of two hours as we made our way through the entirety of the storm. Eventually, everybody got somewhat used to it – I think I even managed to nod off – but once we arrived in Miami, there were a couple of our number that asked “was it just me, or was that more turbulence than anyone’s ever experienced on a flight before?” and most of us had to agree.
Still, we’ve gotten here safely, and I want to thank you for keeping an eye on us; now if you would be so kind as to extend that for the remainder of the week, that would be much appreciated. Oh, and wish us luck, as we’ll probably need that, too.
Letters to Rachel 